


Final Stages

by LetMeEntertainYou



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Blindess, M/M, blind, platonic maylor, retinitis pigmentosa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 20:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18818326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeEntertainYou/pseuds/LetMeEntertainYou
Summary: Since childhood, the process of losing his vision had been gradual. There were many times he didn’t even notice the loss in sight until he was unable to do things. Like when he first lost the ability to see in the dark. If a room was even somewhat dim, he was as blind as a bat.Each loss was hard to process, but this one cut the deepest.





	Final Stages

**Author's Note:**

> My blog is Disabled-Queen-HC on tumblr.  
> Anon asked: Hi! Could you write for Roger going through the final stages of having sight transitioning to blindness caused by Retinitis Pigmentosa? If it’s too complicated, I completely understand! Thank you in advance! You do really great work here, and I’m really glad I found your blog!

Roger scrunched his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again, a sinking feeling dropping his stomach to his feet.

Nearly everything was black. Besides a tiny tunnel of light and color, there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Since childhood, the process of losing his vision had been gradual. There were many times he didn’t even notice the loss in sight until he was unable to do things. Like when he first lost the ability to see in the dark. If a room was even somewhat dim, he was as blind as a bat.

Each loss was hard to process, but this one cut the deepest.

According to his ophthalmologist, this was the final stage in Retinitis Pigmentosa progression. At only 35 years old, he was officially blind.  
Roger had been legally blind for the past decade, but he still had a considerable amount of functioning vision left. Maybe everything was blurry and he had a restricted visual field, but he could manage all by himself. He only needed his white cane for walking outside in busy areas. Only needed help reading things if the print was too small.

But only this morning did he realize how much had gone in the past few months. His field of vision was but a pin prick and even that only consisted of unrecognizable blobs.

He was blind. The type of blind people thought of when you said the word. Officially disabled, at least according to his own definition.

With a long sigh, Roger realized he couldn’t spend the day in bed lamenting what was always inevitable. He wasn’t one to sit around and mope. So he swung his legs over the bed and got on with his day.

He shuffled his way into the bathroom, looking for a patch of bright yellow. Every doorway had bright yellow tape on the floor in front of it, to let him know where the entry was.

His morning leak and mouth washing was always the easiest part of his routine. Everything else always seemed a little daunting.

Mostly the stairs to get to the kitchen.

Each step had white tape on it and to the side, a heavy duty banister so he could lean on it heavily when he felt a little shaky.

Step by step, he finally made it to the landing, wiping pretend sweat from his brow. Now onto the kitchen.

His kitchen was always quite funny to the sighted. Things were labeled in gigantic lettering, bright plastic strings hanging from certain things. That was the only way he could identify what he was trying to get.

Or at least used to. The text no longer was legible to him. He relied mostly on the string, shape and shape of whatever he was grabbing.

And a curly red string meant he was holding the tea jar.

He inhaled the bitter earl grey smell before going about getting the kettle ready. It was an electric one. He never fancied using the stove even when he could see so there was no point in trying to be a hero by using the stove to boil a kettle with such little vision. His electric one always did the job quite nicely and never burned the house down once.

He sat down with his cup of tea, never really a big breakfast man and sipped away in the quiet nook, mind wandering but avoiding a certain topic.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a knock at the door. It was too bloody early for visitors or solicitors. He grumbled, making his way to the front door by following the yellow tape that signified doorways.

‘‘Who is it?” Roger called out, having learned to not open doors until he could absolutely verify who was on the other side.

“Your favorite person in the world,” someone called back in a singsong voice.

“No such person,” Roger said with a smile because he definitely knew who it was.

“It’s Brian, you git,” Brian said, a pout in his tone.

“Never heard of him,” Roger replied, letting out a cackle when he heard Brian gasp. Eventually he did open the door, Brian walking in with a huff.

“You’re lucky you’re my mate because I would’ve ripped these tickets to shreds,” he said, holding up to fluorescent orange blobs that Roger could only assume were said tickets.

“Yeah? What’re they for?” he asked, shutting the door behind them.

“They’re for a car show. Thought you’d like to come. They’ll be racing at the end too,” Brian said, knowing Roger really fancied cars. He used to scrutinize their shapes, colors and designs, but over the past few years, made an obsession for the sound. Engines that could purr and growl, rumble and hiss.

Roger’s eyes lit up, thinking that a day of distraction would be more than fantastic.

“Perhaps you are my favorite person in the world…” he said, making Brian pump his fist with a hoot.

“Well, get ready then, unless you prefer going in your pyjamas,”

And with that, Roger flew up the stairs, caution thrown to the wind. Although caution flew right back through the window when he opened his closet.

Roger was a fashionista amongst other things and not being able to see what outfit he was wearing always gave him a bit of anxiety. He could only identify things based off texture and color which wasn’t really enough. It lead to some really questionable outfits which also lead to the nickname Rainbow Taylor.

But what did that matter today? He was going out with Brian of all people, the least fashionable person he knew.

So he threw on what felt like jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed his white cane and met Brian back downstairs.

“Ready, m’lady?” Brian asked, extending out an arm for Roger to hold, you know, because he was blind and all.

“You fucking wish,” was all Roger said, whacking the hell out of Brian’s shins with his cane.

The car show was actually great, a little escape from his mind for a few hours. He heard all types of delightful engines and squeals from tires. He smelled burning rubber and plumes of smoke. Occasionally Brian would interject with the model of car or year, but other than that, Roger was self sufficient in his journey through the cars.

The two were now watching and listening to a car race, sat pretty far back from most of the crowd. Roger had on his sunglasses even though the sun had set, the overhead lights bothering him.

He fiddled with them for no particular reason before looking over to Brian, him looking more like a smudge than a person.

Roger got his best friend’s attention with a throat clearing, tentatively saying, “Hey, uh. My vision’s deteriorated these past few months, y’know. Uh. I can’t see all that much anymore,”

Brian smiled softly, nodding. “I figured,” was his only reply. Being friends for so long, many words weren’t always necessary to get across a big point.

“Cool,” Roger said, looking forward to face the race again.

Was it difficult being blind? Yeah. Did it suck at times? Obviously. But with his friend besides him, narrating the race for him, it was easy to forget about his struggles for a little bit. It wasn’t the end of his world. Maybe it was a new beginning. Roger wasn’t sure. He wasn’t one to sit and dwell on things.


End file.
